ld help you and do my duty too," said Fitz.

"I wish you could," replied Poole. "But I don't think much of your
notion. You said it was all a dream."

"No, not all. It came from my dreaming and getting into a muddle over
what Chips the carpenter said."

"I thought so," said Poole coolly; "all a muddle, after all. Dreams are
precious poor thin stuff."

"This isn't a dream," cried Fitz sharply.

"And this isn't a dream," cried Poole, flushing up. "I have been
thinking about it, and I can't help seeing that as sure as we two are
sitting here, those mongrel brutes that swarm in the gunboat will sooner
or later get the better of us. Our lads are plucky enough, but the
enemy is about six to one, and they'll hang about there till they
surprise us or starve us out; and how will it be then?"

"Why, you will all be prisoners of war, of course."

"Prisoners of war!" cried Poole contemptuously. "What, of Villarayo's
men, the sweepings and scum of the place, every one of them armed with a
long knife stuck in his scarf that he likes to whip out and use!
Hot-blooded savage wretches! Prisoners of war! Once they get the upper
hand, there will be a regular massacre. They'll make the schooner a
prisoner of war if I don't contrive to get below and fire two or three
shots into the little magazine; and that I will do sooner than fall
alive into their hands. Do you think you would escape because you are
an English officer? Not you! Whether you are fighting on our side or
only looking on, it will be all the same to them. I know them, Burnett;
you don't; and I am telling you the honest truth. There! We'll take
our chance," continued the lad coldly. "I don't want to know anything
about your dreams now."

Poole was in the act of throwing one leg over the bowsprit, and half
turned away; but Fitz caught him tightly by the arm.

"I can't help it," he cried excitedly, "even if it's wrong. Sit still,
Poole, old chap. I've been thinking this. You see, when I went aboard
the _Tonans_ everything was so fresh and interesting to me about the
gun-drill and our great breech-loader.--Did you ever see one?"

"Not close to," said Poole coldly. "Ah, well, I have, and you have no
idea what it's like. Big as it is, it's all beautifully made. The
breech opens and shuts, and parts of it move on hinges that are finished
as neatly as the lock of a gun; and it is wonderful how easily
everything moves. There are great screws which you